#withheld medication

Normally, Wolffe considers himself lucky to have ended up with a Jedi who is notoriously hard to kill.

For some time before but especially after Abregado when General Plo had fought for them in the literal dead of space, Wolffe was pretty secure in the thought that nothing known in this universe would be able to kill the Jedi.

The fact that he is being proven wrong right this moment is making his head spin with worry.

Frost is slowly seeping through the uncovered parts of his armour, through the thermal suit he is wearing underneath.

The cave is entirely made up from ice, the ceiling is glistening blue and sparkling with white holes just like the massive glacier walls.

The permafrost drains through the floor and cools the air but at least the icy wind is kept outside for now.

“ETA for the AT-TE team is one hour, Sir,” he announces and brushes the snow from his shoulders and helmet that stems from the short trip outside to get enough radio reception for a com call.

Finally, they will be picked up from getting lost in the middle of a mission to a very snowy, unwelcoming moon.

There is no answer to his announcement, just eerie silence.

“Sir?”

Wolffe steps further into the cave and freezes when he spots the Jedi slumped against a large boulder.

“General Plo,” he exclaims and crouches by his side in a second.

Carefully, he pushes his hand under his shoulders and helps the Jedi sit up.

“Commander,” the Jedi rasps.

“What happened to you?” Wolffe inquires. When he left to find a signal, the Jedi was standing, seemingly in good health.

“I believe the frost is doing damage the filters to my mask,” the Kel Dor explains. Wolffe’s eyes widen under the helmet.

He has Vet on coms before he can even consciously decide on calling their CMO.

“Commander. Are you alright?” The medic inquires.

“The ice is damaging the General’s mask.” Wolffe doesn’t even know what he wants Vet to do. The medic stayed behind with the tanks, a full hour out.

“What’s his status?”

“I must admit, Lieutenant, I am a little out of breath,” the Jedi offers. It’s true, the soft gasps between words give away as much.

“How long have you been like this?” Vet questions.

General Plo huffs softly. “A couple of hours would be my best guess.

Vet is silent on the other side for a moment.

“With your permission, Sir, I would direct Commander Wolffe to switch out the filters. That would likely help until we can provide further medical care,” Vet suggests and Wolffe already knows he won’t have a say in this, but Vet could have at least asked about how confident he feels with touching the general’s mask system.

“Yes, that seems to be the best course of action.”

It feels awkward, crouching over his general like this but Wolffe chases off the thoughts and instead lays out the tools and parts in the small kit on the cloth.

“Are you ready, Commander?” Vet asks. It sounds like he is moving around, digging through some cabinets.

“Affirmative. Get on with it,” he answers.

“Good. Are you comfortable to begin, General?”

“Positive, Lieutenant. I’d rather we start soon.” Plo seems to be getting more breathless by the minute, so Wolffe shares the sentiment. Better start now than have their Jedi die right under his hands.

Wolffe can hear Vet breathing for a moment before he gives the first direction.

“Wolffe, there are two rings on each side where the extensions of the General’s ears meet the sides of the mask,” he describes slowly.

“I apologize for the intrusion, General. In advance.” 

“There is no need to apologize, Commander. I am most thankful for your assistance,” the Kel Dor answers gravelly.

Wolffe nods and focuses on following Vet’s guidance.

“I think I see what you mean, Vet.”

“Good. Those are the connections to the vocabulator. I need to you push the rings back and then gently pull the organic parts from the mask. Gently,” he emphasizes.

“Vocabulator, meaning…” Wolffe questions.

“You have to communicate with hand signals from here on, that’s right,” Vet confirms.

Wolffe takes a deep breath and watches General Plo confirm with a soft nod before he gets to work. Carefully, he does as Vet instructed him to. After a few tries, he finally manages to loosen the fixations and separate the mask from the organic parts.

“Are you alright, General?” He asks finally.

The Kel Dor signs a weak affirmative.

“Vet, I got it. What next?”

“The filters to the mask sit in the bulb-shaped tops of the claws at the bottom of the mask. Did you get that?”

Wolffe inspects the bottom of the mask for a moment, piecing the picture together in his head.

“Yes, I got it,” he answers.

“Before you touch anything, I’ll explain the procedure in its entirety.”

“I’m listening,” Wolffe answers dutifully, silently praying that Vet will just get on with it.

“This is getting to the actual breathing apparatus now so before Wolffe touches anything, you need to take a deep breath, General. As much as possible.”

General Plo signs another affirmative, but it looks like it is becoming more difficult to move his body.

“He understands,” Wolffe says to Vet.

“Alright, Wolffe. Whenever you two are ready, you start with unhooking the claw-part from the base of the mask. There are two teeth-like extensions on each side that are tucked into the back of the removable piece. Be mindful of those.”

Maker, that sounds terribly complicated. Wolffe tries to follow Vet’s instruction as best as possible.

“Breath, unhook the claw-piece, then unhook the teeth extensions, right?”

“Exactly. Then you can move the piece freely. You turn it over and should see the filter. The filter is a grey, round disk, the size of an eye. It has a screwing mechanism. You unscrew the old filter and then put the new filter into place. Once that is secure, you reattach the piece to the mask. Did you get that?”

“Loud and clear,” Wolffe answers while inspecting the replacement filter.

“Good. The time frame is short so I would appreciate if you could give me a note once you start. Try it, you’ll do well.”

Wolffe peers down at the Jedi.

“Are you ready, Sir?” He asks. He watches the chest of General Plo lift a few times and it doesn’t look like particularly deep inhales, but when the Jedi signs affirmative, Wolffe accepts it and gets to work.

“Starting now, Vet,” he announces.

Unclipping the side piece of the mask is an uncomfortable feeling, especially since Wolffe has to apply more pressure than he would have thought to get it free from the base of the mask.

Once it’s off, he hooks his fingers under the teeth-like extensions and pulls them free.

Silver liquid wets the tips of his glove and crystalizes in the cold air almost immediately.

“Vet, there is blood coming from the mask,” he says but doesn’t stop working, turns the piece and tries to unscrew the filter without freezing his fingertips to it.

“That’s to be expected. It’s their equivalent of when we get nose bleeding in especially dry air conditions. Keep going, you are doing great,” the medic answers.

The Jedi’s fingers dig softly into the ice under them, so Wolffe gets on quickly. He unscrews the old filter, sets it down next to him and picks up the new one.

It crackles softly in the grip of his fingertips.

“The new filters are frozen. Is that a problem?”

There is silence on the other side of the com that stretches just a little too long. Vet isn’t sure. The reg manuals that inform about the medical specifics of their Jedi are not at all extensive. Beyond basic anatomy and special medication needs, there is virtually no information.

“Warm it in between your palms,” Vet finally orders. “You have three seconds.”

It takes Wolffe two seconds to rid himself off his gloves and press the little disk between his hands, carefully not to damage it.

He can feel the ice burn on his skin, his fingertips scream in pain almost immediately.

Once the bristling on his palms stops, Wolffe is quick to screw the filter into the mask piece and attach it back into place with trembling hands.

“Vet?”

“A little over three minutes. Good job.”

“General?”

The Kel Dor doesn’t move.

“General Plo?” Wolffe asks, grabbing the shoulder of the Jedi.

“He’s alright, Commander. I’m tracking his vitals over his vambraces. Keep going,” Vet commands.

The second time, the whole procedure already goes a lot smoother, even though Wolffe’s hands are shaking from both the cold and from anxiety. He is highly trained, that much is true, but he is neither a medic nor has he done anything similar to this before.

He clicks the filter into place.

“Wolffe, you better be finished soon,” Vet notes slowly.

“I’m done. Almost done,” he exclaims but slips twice on screwing the filter in. He hooks the piece back into place and attaches it.

“Vet?”

“Now you reassemble the vocabulator.”

Wolffe’s fingertips are turning white by now, but he manages to push through the pain and follow Vet’s instruction.

He is shivering and a deep wetness settles into the bones of his forearms.

Nausea grips his head and fear rises in his chest when there is only silence lingering.

It fades almost immediately when the Jedi suddenly stirs and starts coughing roughly.

He is gasping for air in between, but he is breathing.

Wolffe lets out a heavy sigh himself and things that he soon will have so many grey hairs that he can rival Fox.